


Desperate

by hiasobi_writes



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-20
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-12 12:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/491258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiasobi_writes/pseuds/hiasobi_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles smells like desperation. He smells like sweat and sex and fear and panic and <em>desperation</em>. And Derek still can’t make himself stop.</p><p>Fuck-or-die fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Desperate

**Author's Note:**

> Fuck or die fic because my brain said so. Also, vague reasons are vague/nonexistent. Unbeta'ed, and mostly written for [Bree](http://scarletnerded.tumblr.com/).

Stiles smells like desperation. He smells like sweat and sex and fear and panic and _desperation_. And Derek still can't make himself stop.

(He has Stiles pressed up against the door frame of the house, face buried in Stiles' neck, trying to reign himself in but he can't he _can't_.)

"Derek. Derek, _please_."

"What? What do you need, Stiles?"

(It must be more than his own hand, more than his own fingers, because those hadn't been enough, they hadn't, Stiles is still too hot under his hands. Sex and desperation and--)

"I don't. Just. Derek. Just stop. Or slow down or something but just. Please."

"I don't know how much time you have."

"But I don't-- I can't-- _Please_."

So Derek drags himself away, blinking back the worry. "We don't know what they did to you, Stiles."

"We know enough. And I won't do it, Derek, I won't."

"Is it me?" And even if it twinges -- he's the Alpha, he should be able to fix this, dammit -- he can't really care because it's _Stiles_. "Because I don't know if I have time to go get Erica, but--"

Stiles keens, hips jerking while his head snaps back against the door frame. "No, Derek, that's not it, it's just. I _can't_."

And then it sinks in. "Can't? Or won't?"

Stiles shudders, curling forward against Derek. "Don't ask me that."

Derek tightens his jaw. "Don't ask me to watch you die."

"We don't know--"

"Yes you do."

And Stiles just shakes even harder against him. "Please. Derek. Please please please."

Derek hauls Stiles over his shoulder and storms down the hall to his room, throwing Stiles down on the bed and leaning over him and dragging his Alpha mask on. "I'll do this however I have to, Stiles, but I'd rather do it your way."

"Don't. Derek. Derek, _don't_."

And, okay, maybe that threat was a little more idle than he'd intended, because which one really _is_ the lesser of two evils; what's the difference between rape and murder at the end of day, except that only one of them you have to live with? But he still leans leans forward and presses his forehead to Stiles' shoulder, and whispers a selfish " _Don't make me watch you die_."

Stiles keens again, fingers fisting in Derek's hair. Derek doesn't arch into the touch, doesn't lean into it, doesn't move away, just lets Stiles tear into him, taking whatever solace he can from causing Derek pain. His skin is red and hot under Derek's hands and he just wants to make it go away wants Stiles to be safe and healthy and happy not this twisted terrified desperate mess of a thing.

Stiles' fingers clench and unclench in his hair a dozen times before they slide down to the back of his neck, wrapping tightly around it. Derek vaguely wonders if Stiles is going to try to kill him before the whatever-this-is can kill Stiles.

He hopes not.

But then Stiles is hauling him up to press his forehead against Derek's. "Okay," he pants, eyes wide and blown and scared. "Okay, just. Just do it."

It really shouldn't be enough for Derek, wouldn't be in any other situation, but when Stiles is burning from the inside out he'll take what he can get. "Do you know what it needs?"

"You. You inside me. God, Derek, just. Just _do it_."

And Derek can only swallow down the nausea and regret bubbling up inside him to reach for the lube in his bedside table.

He slides down Stiles' body and takes his cock in his mouth at the same time he slides a finger inside him. Stiles jerks against him, and Derek just closes his eyes and opens his throat, letting Stiles take what he needs. He takes longer than absolutely necessary prepping Stiles, fingers working slow and steady inside him while he goes on kissing and licking and sucking his way along Stiles' dick. When he slides a third finger in, Stiles gasps and jerks and comes down Derek's throat. For an instant, Derek lets himself hope that that was enough.

(Like making it shorter makes in any less terrible.)

But then a shiver runs the length of Stiles' body and his skin flares red hot again and Derek knows it wasn't. So he looks up from where he has three fingers pressed inside Stiles to meet the teenager's eyes.

"How do you want it?"

For a moment, Stiles goes completely still, staring up at Derek's face, eyes strangely clear. He's not sure what Stiles sees there, but it makes him reach a trembling hand down to slide along he side of Derek's face.

"Stiles?"

Then he blinks and looks away. Pulls Derek's fingers out. And rolls onto his stomach, pushing up onto his hands and knees.

Derek presses his nose to Stiles' shoulder blade. "Stiles--"

"Like this."

"I--"

"Like this, Derek."

Derek lets out a fast, harsh breath against the skin of Stiles' back; Stiles just arches long and beautiful under him. Slipping the condom on is nothing more than habit, and then he's sliding in and gritting his teeth against the need to just _take_.

Stiles gulps down air, shaking while he adjusts. Then he jerks his hips back sharply and snarls, " _Move_."

So Derek does.

It takes barely three thrusts before Stiles collapses to his elbows, tilting his ass higher when he spreads his knees to compensate. His head hangs limply between his arms while he shudders and gasps for breath. Derek's torn between wanting to make this fast and wanting to make it good, but the way Stiles grabs at his hip after a high, satisfied keen makes him lean toward the latter.

Derek loses track of time briefly when Stiles forces himself back up onto his hands and starts fucking back against him in earnest. If he didn't know any better--

But he does.

He still indulges himself with tracing his middle finger down the line of Stiles' spine, in running the path backwards with his nose, in breathing in the scent of Stiles at the juncture of neck and shoulder while his hips maintain their punishing pace. He manages to resist the urge to wind his fingers through Stiles', to kiss at his shoulder and spine and throat. He lets his few indulgences be what they are, and takes nothing more than that.

When Stiles comes, it takes Derek by surprise. (Like so much of Stiles.) He curls around him, fingers meeting Stiles' over his cock to wring every last bit of pleasure out of him. _Make it good_ , he'd decided, and he'll be damned if he doesn't do his job. But he's too far from orgasm himself to match Stiles, so he kneels there, motionless, trying to figure out what Stiles needs. What the _curse_ needs. Was Stiles' orgasm enough? Or is Derek going to have to fuck Stiles through his recovery to his own?

In the end, Stiles takes the decision away from him. He reaches back to where Derek's hand still rests in the small of his back, twining his fingers through Derek's.

"Move."

When Derek comes, it's with his face buried between Stiles' shoulder blades and his fingers still locked with Stiles'.

It's not perfect. In fact, it's so far from perfect it can't even _see_ perfect. But Derek can already feel Stiles' skin cooling under his hands when he slides out, which means it worked. And that's what really matters.

Derek untangles their fingers to get to his feet and grab a blanket to throw over them. He's always plenty warm enough at night, but with what his body just had to fight off, he's taking no such bets on Stiles' comfort.

When he gets back to the room, Stiles is sprawled on his stomach over most of the bed. Derek can't help hovering just inside the door, wondering if he should just leave Stiles to himself after what he just--

But then Stiles turns to him and gives him a tiny, sleepy smile. He makes an aborted movement with a hand that might be a gesture to come closer. So Derek takes a step toward him. Stiles' smile widens a touch, and Derek takes that as his permission.

He lays the blanket over Stiles' shoulders before crawling in beside him.

Stiles doesn't thank him. Derek wouldn't be able to take him seriously if he did. But it's clear enough that Stiles thinks Derek did the right thing. And that's what really matters to him at the end of the day.

So he lets himself curl up beside Stiles so they can wait out the night together.


End file.
